Anatomy of a Happily Ever After
by ShadowSpires
Summary: The progression of Jason and Tim's relationship. A fight. A kiss. A confrontation. What makes up a happily ever after? JayTim
Warning: Umm, Unabashedly sappy? Unbetaed. Takes place in some sort of nebulous point in the time-stream, and Jason has a dirty mouth. Invading head-cannons, lack of chance to read very many of the actual comics. I think that's everything I can think of.

Word Count: 5,056 (Woah, I think this is the longest thing I've ever finished. Wow.)

Summery: Ruminations on a relationship. A fight. A kiss. A confrontation. What makes up a happily ever after?

A/N: This was supposed to be simple smut; Jason waking Tim up with some yummy sex. But then my head-canon Jason tossed his consent issues in my face, so I had to go chronicle the progression of their relationship in order to justify it, and suddenly it's, like, long, and didn't go at all in the direction I wanted it to…

So yeah, it's been languishing on my hard-drive while I contemplated trying to force it into submission. Then I see that Avanalae is having a bad day, and, well, what better motivation is there to finish things than to give them as gifts? So now a couple hours later it's several thousand words longer, and a great deal more polished, and best of all, done!

Dedication: So, Avanalae, though I have never commented directly and I'm sure you don't know who I am, I love you fics and your blog. I hope your day gets better and the internet stops giving you a hard time. I'm mostly just a lurker, but I enjoy your presence on my dash. Thank you.

Also hi to questceque and schizoauthoress, who recently started following me!

This is unbetaed, so I apologise for the inevitable tense confusion, POV switches and any other mistakes. I read it through a few times, but I always miss stuff like that. If anyone sees anything glaring, please point it out! Thanks.

Also x-posted at my AO3 here; /works/350403 

Jason trailed gentle fingers over the curve of Tim's shoulder. Dirty yellow light darted in the window from the streetlights outside, casting sickly shadows into the dips and hollows of the younger's muscled frame where he rested against Jason's chest.

It was a hot Gotham summer night and the sheet they'd started with was now tangled up around their legs, binding them together.

Jason's callouses catch slightly against raised scars as he draws nonsense patterns along the shadowed hollow of his lover's shoulder blade and down the divots of his spine.

Tim hmmmed and squirmed sleepily, nuzzling against Jay's neck. He immediately changed the motion from trailing fingers into a firmer palm stroke and tightened the arm that was around Tim's waist until the younger boy settled again, breathing damp and warm into Jason's neck.

He made an effort to keep his touches firm and soothing rather than light and tickling. The tiny, wicked part of Jay's brain that was always cataloguing ways to rile Timmy up noted that reaction for later exploitation, but the rest of him really didn't want to wake the other up just yet.

He…cherished these moments, though he didn't think he would ever be able to tell Tim that outright. Cherished the amount of trust, the amount of faith it took for someone as highly trained, as suspicious, as fucking anal as Tim to let down his guard enough to sleep in his presence.

More than that, even. The completely boneless nature of Tim's sleep, the way he hadn't reacted to Jason's awakening, or even to his continuing touch told Jason that not only did the younger man trust him enough to be asleep in his presence, he trusted him enough to *know* bone-deep, goddamn Bat-training-instinct deep that Jason would guard his back. That is was alright to sink into sleep, because Jason had the watch, and nothing would happen to him if Jason had to give his life, again, to prevent it.

The older man - the failed Robin, the sidekick turned anti-hero turned whatever the fuck he was now - honestly did not know how this had happened. How animosity had turned to tolerance, to grudging respect, to…this.

He'd hated this boy. Really, truly, honestly hated him with all the depths his tortured, anguished heart and soul had been capable of, when he returned to find that not only had Bruce replaced him so easily but this Pretender had been granted a place that should have been Jason's.

Beloved brother, trusted partner.

Loved, taught, played with, hugged, treated with all the familiar, familial affection that Dick was capable of, but had withheld from Jason, at least at first.

Trusted to be Robin but also partner, not watched with suspicion whenever Bruce didn't think he was looking. Not steered away from certain cases with all the subtlety Bruce really wasn't capable of.

Named son, and Robin, and granted *his* place, the only thing he'd had to cling to since the remembered warmth of his mother's hugs, her gentle hands and roughened voice. Since before everything had gone wrong, and she had died and left him alone to fend for himself on the streets. It had been his, and suddenly it wasn't.

He'd tried to kill him.

He could not reach it without disturbing Tim, but Jason knew the feeling of the scar on Tim's neck almost better then he knew the feeling of his kisses, or the heat of his body, or the touch of his hands.

He knew it against his tongue and the tips of his fingers.

It knew the scrape of early morning stubble and the grating of teeth, the brush of knuckle and the slick rub of his cock.

It was not the only scar he'd given Tim, but of all the marks that were etched into the younger man's skin, from him, from countless others over the years, it was *his.* A souvenir of their first meetings, the first time Tim had become real to him, something other than the subject of reports and surveillance.

He was…fascinating. After their initial violent encounters Jason had watched him, interacted with him every so often, watched himself being watched with wary eyes.

And slowly, the animosity mutated, became something equally burning, but that warmed instead of scorched.

They had ended up working the same case; drug dealers getting prostitutes hooked on some nasty new shit they had cooked up. Tim had stopped him from killing some of the damn lackeys and had cracked the whole thing wide open in the process.

Once Jason had managed to calm down, to push the knotted little ball of ragehateshameangerloathinghungerlust down they had made a surprisingly effective team.

Suddenly they were running into each other on patrol at least once every two weeks, then once a week, then twice. It had only made sense to team up if they were going to be in the same area together anyway, often following similar leads. It had taken a damn long time for him to figure out that Tim was doing it deliberately, the little manipulative shit. It would not have surprised him to find out that the boy had a damn flow chart plotting out the progression of their increased contact.

Tim did try to stop him from killing when he was there, but when he failed that was exactly how he treated it; like *he* had failed, not like Jason had. He didn't leave, or get disgusted, or rant. He just looked sad, like he had failed to do something he'd been trying so hard to accomplish. Resigned, like he was becoming accustomed to failure, to never being good enough. And Jason…found himself using less lethal methods when Tim was around. He still thought that some fuckers had no fix except to kill them, but…he hated that look in Tim's eyes, so he tried not to, when the other boy was there.

He'd… found that he did not like being at odds with Tim, especially not facing him across a battlefield of irreconcilable differences. He had discovered that he felt…entirely too much of *something* to want that, though what that something was he did not fully recognise until the first time he pinned Tim to a wall.

Though the first time Jason pinned Tim to a wall he'd almost gotten a Batarang to the gut.

*****

It had been a busy night in Jason's segment of the city. The petty criminals of Gotham were out in force. Riled up by some urging of the inexplicable rhythms of this dark city they called home and charge and duty. The pressure and urgency normally rife on a night like this one was partially alleviated by Red Robin's presence at his side. The youngest former Robin had been around more often lately, and Jason tolerated him joining him on patrols because…well, because he missed working with a partner, alright? And Tim was good in a fight, smart with plans, brilliant at detecting patterns and trends in criminal behaviour, and willing to both take directions and stand up for himself when Jason was being overbearing.

They'd been getting ready to call it a night, having just finished taking down a gang of toughs with just a few too many close calls, when they stumbled across a rather large drug deal going down. Ignoring the tired, pissy commentary over the com-link he maintained with Tim about the lack of chatter he'd picked up about this, the stupidity of criminals in general and drug dealers in particular, and the sheer cliche of having this little meet in an abandoned warehouse, Jason swooped down into the midst of the idiots peddling drugs in his territory.

With the element of surprise signature of Bat-training - and which somehow still worked on criminals, despite how long they'd been operating in the city. Tim would attribute it for sure on the arrogance inherent in making it this far in the city. Jason privately pegged it on that undefinable quality of humanity that also made people think that Bruce had that many muscles because he played extreme sports, and made the lack of a pair of glasses an effective disguise. - they were quickly reaping chaos in the building.

The bust-up had been going well enough, especially considering how tired both him and Tim were after the night they had, when Tim zigged when he should have zagged, and got tossed into a wall.

Hard.

And lay there.

Unmoving.

Jason's gun was out before he even realised it, and a bullet had taken out the kneecaps of the remaining three thugs with brutal efficiency when the little bird had remained alarmingly still against the wall for too long for Jason's piece of mind.

He rushed over, ignoring the screams of pain from his victims. Relief made his knees feel weak as he reached Tim's side to see him start to sit up, and shake his head woozily. Jason couldn't see his eyes, but he was sure that if he could they would be unfocused and blinking dazedly.

He hauled the boy up and pressed him into the wall, kevlar digging painfully into both their chests. Tim struggled, confused, and Jason dodged two nerve strikes and a flailing Batarang as relief and anger and lust overwhelmed him and he dove in for a brutal kiss. Steal scraped against kevlar as Tim struck out instinctively before mumbling, 'Jay?' and melting into the kiss, making confused, hungry little noises.

Jason left the thugs bleeding and broken in the street, surrounded by the evidence of their crime for the cops to collect. Hopefully they would arrive before someone else did to roll these morons, but he couldn't care about that too much. He had more important things to do, like attempting to corral a concussed Tim back to his apartment, the closest safe place he knew.

Tim was stumbling, disoriented and clingy while Jason led him back to his apartment, got him out of his uniform and into some of Jason's old far-too-large sweats, and carefully checked over the head-wound; probing it gently, and examining Tim's pupils and reactions to determine the severity of his obvious concussion.

Satisfied that it wasn't hospital-serious, he settled them both in his bed to better watch over the uncharacteristically clingy, affectionate and assertive ex-robin who seemed determined to claim another kiss.

Extricating Tim's hand from beneath his shirt for the third time and pinning both hands with a full-body manoeuvre he refused to call a hug, he reflected that that might not have been the best idea he ever had as a shiver shot down his spine as Tim, denied the exploration of his hands began to suck delicately at his neck.

Oh, this was going to be a long night.

****

Nothing much had happened that night - Jason wasn't fucking well going to take advantage just because he wanted the younger man, especially not while he was hurt and confused - and for a little while Jason was sure Tim didn't remember that impulsive kiss, or much of the night at all.

But then the outcast didn't see Tim for a while and Jason knew he remembered. Remembered and was avoiding him. Jason was hearing reports from the underworld that something had crawled up Red Robin's butt; he was tearing into the other side of the city with ferocity, sending Huntress into a tizzy by invading her turf.

So Jason did what he did best; repressed and took it out on the criminals in *his* turf. After all, what was good enough for Red Robin was good enough for him.

It wasn't until he completed his first full patrol since the Incident, and thus his first full patrol without Tim in months, that he realised the 'his' territory now incorporated an awful lot of what used to be Red Robin's.

That sent Jason back to his patrol logs, a habit he had never seen fit to break since he didn't have photographic memories like some. They told him that slowly but steadily the territory that he and Tim patrolled together was less *his* and more *theirs*.

Which sort of explained why Tim was tearing through Huntresses territory and not his own.

By the next week, the underworld was abuzz, wondering what had riled up Red Hood and Red Robin as they each tore through their respective sectors of the city. Jason had received three angry visits from Huntress, demanding that he fix whatever it is he did and get Tim out of her territory and back into theirs, two astonishingly amicable but concerned visits from *Dick* asking if everything was alright, which had almost blown his mind. To top it all off, he'd had *criminals* asking if he'd broken up with his boyfriend, while he tossed them into walls.

So, apparently the entire population of Gotham thought they were fucking. What the *actual* fuck?

He showed up at Tim's apartment about an hour after the younger boy got back from patrol. And damn if he hadn't had to stalk the boy to figure out where the hell he lived. The brat knew every one of his safe houses and apartments across the entire damn city and he didn't even know where Tim lived? How had that even happened? Sure, the kid did seem to just follow him into whatever safe house they ended up closest to at the end of the night, no matter what Jason said in protest. Eventually, he'd just become accustomed to going to sleep to the sound of Tim's keys clacking as he filled in the night's patrol log, or to the quiet snuffle-snores Tim denied making when he was so exhausted he passed out on Jason's couch. Jason was also used to him being gone by morning. But the point was, that was always in Jason's apartment, or in one of his safe houses, never at Tim's.

So he'd had to find it.

Stalking someone Bat-trained unseen over Gotham rooftops? Actually about a hundred fucking times harder than it sounded.

He breaks into Tim's apartment, growing more and more irate the longer it takes him to get through Tim's impressive security system, to demand to know what the fuck he's been doing that the whole fucking city thinks they're together, and while he's at it, why is he being such a prissy little bitch over one fucking kiss? (Alright, a few by the time the night ended, but it's not like Jason'd initiated them all!)

His angry tirade is halted in the middle of the third word when he actually looks at the other former Robin.

He'd come blinking to his feet, clutching a shoe like a Batarang, blinking dazedly at him. There were dark circles under his eyes and his face was red and sweaty.

Jason covered the space between them at a pace that made the younger flinch back and raise his hands defensively.

A firm hand on his forehead confirmed the raging fever and Jason's prepared rant devolved into an outraged squawk of; "You *have not* been patrolling like that!" And he's horrified to note that he sounds almost exactly like Dicky-Bird did the one time he found Jason out on patrol sick, back when he was still Robin and trying his best to impress Bruce.

He immediately modulates his tone.

"You fucking moron, are you trying to give the scum a free shot or are you just stupid?" He snarled.

Tim blinked at him.

"Jay?" he asked blearily, hands lowering from their (useless) defensive position, words slurring and thick from exhaustion and illness. "What're you doing here?"

Jason sputtered.

"I'm here because you've been fucking avoiding me for weeks!" He half screamed in frustration and confusion. This was not at all how he had imagined this conversation would be going. "You disappeared, stopped patrolling with me, abandoned our territory - and when the fuck did it become *ours*, you manipulative little shit? - to fuck around in Huntresses. I've had Dicky-Bird on my ass about our *relationship problems,* oh, and the entirety of Gotham thinks we're *FUCKING*! You want to explain to me what the fuck is going on, Drake? Because I'm fucking lost!"

Tim blinked at him.

"You left," He said in that tone that Jason had quickly come to recognise as his 'I'm about to say something that makes total sense in my fucked-up brain but you are going to need a dictionary, thesaurus, universal translator and a concussion to make sense of.'

"What are you even talking about?" Jason whined demanded, wracking his brain to try to come up with an explanation.

"You k-kissed me," Tim got out, blushing, but still in that oh-so-reasonable tone that made Jason grate his teeth and want to pound the younger man into the floor. "T-then you left."

"I'm not the one who fucking left, Tim!" Jason shouted. He hadn't been the one with the concussion, *he* remembered that night clearly! He'd gotten Tim back to his apartment and settled in the bed, and then spent the entire night fending off entirely too tempting wondering hands and succumbing to sweet, sweet kisses - hey, he only had so much willpower, alright? And it had been a really fucking long time since anyone had touched him with anything even resembling affection. Hell, it had been a long time since he'd been touched at all, not just attacked - and keeping Tim awake until the worse of the symptoms of his concussion faded.

Then he'd let the younger man go to sleep and left to grab some food - alright, and condoms and lube. A man can hope, can't he?

He'd gotten back to an empty apartment.

It had…hurt, a little. A lot, if he was being honest with himself, something he tried to avoid. He'd thought…but that didn't matter. The food had gotten tossed in the back of the fridge -when the fuck was he going to eat fucking organic peanut butter, and he didn't actually like blueberries - and the other supplies in the bottom drawer of the dresser. He told himself he wasn't actually surprised.

After all, Tim had been gone every morning he'd ever stayed over after a long patrol. He probably just didn't remember it, because of the concussion, didn't have any reason to think this time was different. Or-

Or he hadn't meant it, and was going to pretend it had never happened.

Jason'd found himself brushing fingertips against his lips and small fading bruise on his neck and cursed himself for a fool, grabbing his mask and helmet and stomping out of the apartment to take out his frustration on anyone unfortunate enough to get in his way.

But now, looking into Tim's tired, ernest, hurting face he had to think that there had been some sort of Tim-logic going on that day that mere mortals like him simply weren't capable of comprehending.

Jason sighed, shoved Tim firmly back down into the couch and sat on the edge of the coffee table, looking him straight in the eyes.

"Explain to me what's going on in your head, Babybird. Slowly. In words of less than three syllables."

He'd learned early in this weird partnership that Tim's mind worked on levels far beyond his own. He knew he wasn't stupid or anything. Tim was just a fucking genius. Except for when he really really wasn't, mostly when it came to feelings. Though Jason was pretty sure, considering his relationships with…pretty much everyone he knew, that he had no room to throw stones.

Tim frowned at him, obviously not understanding. "You left." He insisted, obviously struggling to remain upright in his seat. "You kissed me, and then you left." He repeated.

"I wasn't the only one handing out kisses that night, Tim." Jason half sighed, half growled. He'd felt guilty enough in the ensuing weeks about allowing those kisses, as Tim obviously had been beyond the point of informed consent. But after that first one, he really*hadn't* been the instigator. It had been Tim who had been clinging, and moaning his name, reaching up demanding kisses. And Jason…Jason had been completely helpless in the face of such obvious *need.* Though he had managed to keep it from going *beyond* kisses, the thought that anyone, especially this boy, who was so self-sufficient, so in control, so organised and fucking anal, might actually need him? Yeah, that just about tore through every defence he could have possibly mounted.

Just like watching the boy sway in place and blink at him was pinging every withered protective instinct in him. Jason felt bad about pressing him when he was so obviously sick, but he knew if he let Tim rest, let him recover and rebuild his walls before he got an answer, he would never figure out what this was about.

"I woke up, and you were gone," Tim continued, half slurring as he spoke, sinking backwards into his seat whenever his attention slipped. His eyes were glazed and Jason wasn't convinced he was entirely aware of what he was saying. "I- you- we kissed. I've wanted to kiss you forever. Robin, Jay, Red Hood, Jason. But then, when I woke up, you were gone. I- I thought you…regretted it. Or had been humouring me. That you… Wouldn't want to see me. So I left. T'get out of your way. So I wouldn't bother you."

Jason closed his eyes briefly and really, really wanted to put a bullet in the skull of whoever had convinced Tim he was a being a bother just by existing. He didn't think it could have been any of the rest of the Bats. Bruce was a cold mother-fucker at times, but he always made you feel, well, maybe not *useful*, but he was always willing to provide jobs for idle hands. It couldn't have been Dick; Dick was always entirely too happy at all times to see anyone and everyone and would have been far more likely to wrap the kid up in hugs and never let go than make him feel unwanted. Jason was certain that Alfred was incapable of making anyone feel anything other than welcome and wanted.

No, this had to stem from before Tim had become Robin, but Jason needed to stop thinking about that because that only left one option and no one liked having their parents spoken badly of, even if they were fucking cold-hearted bastards. Besides, his mother (his *real* mother, the one who had raised him the best she could) had always told him not to speak ill of the dead unless there was benefit to it, and there was no benefit here, just hurt.

Jason shook his head sharply to dispel the lingering ghosts of their collective dead and tried to figure out how to frame a response to the sheer ridiculousness that was Tim's reasoning.  
Dammnit! Jason had never been particularly good with words, especially not when talking to Tim, who's relationship with words was like a painter's with colours and lines; something to be manipulated to present an image that may or may not bear any resemblance to what it was made out of. The only response forming in Jason's head was a weird mix of bravado -'like you would have been able to kiss me if I hadn't wanted it' - infuriated - 'I wish I could bring your cold-hearted parents back from their graves and kill them all over again' - glee - 'You wanted to kiss me?' - vulnerable - 'no one has made me feel wanted like that, needed like that in so long…' - and incoherent stuttering.

So, it was lucky for his image - and ego, and sanity, and dignity - that Tim had taken the opportunity of his silence to finally succumb to exhaustion and illness.

Jason sighed and glared at the boy slumped back against the couch, part relieved, part aggravated, part amused. He was glad to get the chance to think the situation over again now that he knows that Tim wasn't freaking because Jason had kissed him and he hadn't wanted it. He was freaking because he'd kissed Jason - had been wanting to kiss Jason for a long time, a little part of him crowed with glee - and was afraid Jason hadn't wanted it.

Which was, of course, patently ridiculous.

But of course, rather than stay and ask like a normal person, Tim had run. Convinced he was at fault, and trying to ease the situation by his absence.

"We're far too much alike at times, Baby-bird." Jason informed the boy in an undertone as he carefully picked him up off the couch.

Jason was under no illusions over his own tendency to run away from emotionally challenging situations. Except for those times he stuck around because his presence further aggravated someone else's emotional drama to the point that the entertainment value overwhelmed his own pain.

Hey, he never claimed to be a nice guy.

Or particularly stable.

Or not a masochist.

Tim's only response to Jason's manhandling him off the couch and into his arms for the journey to bedroom for some obviously much-needed rest was to snuggle closer and tuck his head into the hollow of Jason's throat.

He paused in the doorway of the bedroom, gazing down on the small teenager in his arms, heart suddenly pounding in his chest.

This…this was…there was something growing here. Something that would become the definition of an emotionally challenging situation. The urge to run was strong, but…

Something told him this could be important. That this could be everything.

It would be hard. They had a lot of differences. A lot of history. A lot of issues.

They would fight. Of that Jason was certain. They were both entirely too stubborn, too strong-willed not to have clashes eventually.

But, he thought, as Tim hummed and refused to let go after he placed him gently on the bed, it would probably be worth it in the end.

Jason brushed some of the fringe away from Tim's eyes before carefully extricating himself from Tim's grip to go track down some cold medicine and some juice, marvelling at what a delicate frame held so much power and so much intensity. Marvelled that this beautiful creature apparently wanted *him*.

Despite the past, and the looming future pit-falls, all the ways they were irreconcilably different, and distressingly similar, Jason couldn't help but feel that if they could work through it, it would be worth it.

It would be worth anything.

"MmmmmmJay?"

The sleep-slurred voice purred against the sensitive skin of his throat, dragging him blinking back to the present.

Half-lidded, sleepy blue eyes gazed at him from beneath an unruly fringe of sweat-damp hair.  
The dirty-yellow of the streetlight did unkind things to Tim's skin, making him look as sickly and sallow as he had that night in his apartment, after his fever broke. The broken lines that traipsed their way across his otherwise perfect skin were thrown into sharp relief. Almost a week straight of hard days and harder nights had smudged deep shadows under his eyes that the little bit of sleep they had managed to get so far this night had done nothing to ease. Blue-green-purple bruises were ugly shadows on his left jawline, souvenir of some thug's lucky shot, and bandages around his bicep hid stitches and another new-forming scar.

He was the most beautiful thing Jason had ever seen, and all, all his.

Jason's hand came up to scritch gently in the shorter hairs at the bace of Tim's skull, making him purr again and press closer.

"Hmmmmmm," Tim hummed, lips brushing Jason's neck as he spoke. "'vry thing a'right?"

Somehow Jason managed to keep his voice steady when he replied;

"Yeah, Baby-bird. Go back to sleep. Everything is…Perfect."

The two years since that night seemed almost unbelievable. It hadn't all been smooth. They'd had their fights; vicious verbal battles that occasionally devolved into equally fierce physical ones. Periods of idyl and ones of warfare. But slowly they had settled, and now…

He looked around the room. Their room, in their apartment. That was Tim's neatly pressed suit hanging in the closet next to Jason's battered leather coat. Jason's shirt tossed haphazardly onto the area rug they'd bought together; Tim fretting about dimensions while Jason leered at him and stroked it, commenting on how soft it was, and how good it would feel against his naked skin when Jason laid him out on it and drove him out of his mind.

They had an appointment tomorrow; it was Dickie's birthday and they were both going to the Manor to celebrate. The present from both of them sat on the desk, wrapped with Tim's usual meticulous perfection and perfect corners and crowned with a messily tied bow Jason had fought with for almost a half hour while Tim looked on and laughed and teased him that his knot-tying skills must be getting rusty. The laughter had quickly turned to moans when Jason had abandoned the bow to it's dilapidated state and proceeded to show Tim just how not rusty his skills with a rope were. Needless to say, he had not returned to working on the bow.

He was welcome at the Manor now, which truly blew his mind. He didn't go very often. Relations were still…tense, but…it felt good to be able to return to the first place he'd really felt secure after his mother died.

And it all come down to Tim. To this beautiful, stubborn, fearsome, scarily intelligent, independent, kind, vulnerable, person who had for some reason decided to be Jason's.

Watching the blinking of those blue, blue eyes get slower before they finally remained closed, Jason shifted just enough to brush a kiss across Tim's forehead before settling back down into the pillows to take his own advice and drift off for a couple more hours before they had to get up and face the crazy, wonderful insanity that would be a day with the family, and Titans old and new.

"Everything is absolutely perfect."


End file.
